276: Chapter 276 Stepping into the Floating Pagoda Realm

The Futu Realm, outer region of the ancestral land.

At the first light of dawn, the protective array of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan rippled with layers of dark golden light. Seventy-two floating islands orbited the ten-thousand-foot-tall Ancestral Tower in the center, connected by chains formed from spiritual energy, with every link acting as a Saint Grade restriction. This was the foundation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, one of the Five Ancient Clans, which had never been breached by an external enemy in tens of thousands of years.

Today, however, the Futu Realm felt more grim than usual. The protective array was fully activated to an unprecedented degree, and the number of patrolling disciples on each island had tripled. A long queue had formed at the entrance of the teleportation array leading to the central ancestral land—all were disciples from various branches of the clan arriving to participate in the "Inter-Branch Martial Arts Tournament." This grand event, held every hundred years, attracted the elite younger generation from the thirty-six islands and seventy-two grottoes of the Futu Realm. Geniuses dressed in fine silks and satins moved in small groups, whispering to one another or looking around with arrogant expressions.

No one noticed the youth in dark ink-colored battle gear at the end of the line.

He stood alone at the edge of the crowd, a bamboo hat pulled extremely low, obscuring most of his face. A long sword wrapped in layers of black cloth was strapped diagonally across his back, and a few faint wisps of golden light leaked through the gaps in the wrappings, like a sharpness suppressed for too long, breathing in silence. The aura around him was suppressed to the level of an ordinary Earth Supreme—enough to qualify for the tournament, but not enough to attract too much attention.

Not far in front of him, several disciples from the outer islands of the clan were discussing excitedly.

"I heard the Qing Branch is sending people to participate in the tournament this time? Haven't they been suppressed by the Chief Elder for years?"

"The direct line from Chief Elder Qing Yanshan's side only has a few Earth Supremes at strongest. How could they be stronger than Saint Son Xuan Luo? The Saint Son is already at the peak of the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign level, crushing all his peers."

"However, I did hear some bad news—it seems something major happened in the north, and the Chief Elder ordered the full activation of the protective array yesterday. Do you think it has anything to do with the one who was imprisoned over a dozen years ago?"

"Shh—you dare to gossip about this? Do you have a death wish?"

Mu Chen adjusted his bamboo hat, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. The Inter-Branch Martial Arts Tournament was the perfect admission ticket. No matter how tightly Budu Xuan kept the protective array, he wouldn't block the disciples of various branches coming to pay respects to the glory of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan. The queue moved slowly, and when it was his turn, the guard at the gate looked him up and down: "Which branch? Where is your token?"

Mu Chen handed over a token that had been prepared long ago—it was a token of a side branch of the Qing Branch that Mandala had obtained through special channels, with secret assistance from Chief Elder Qing Yanshan. It was authentic and could withstand inspection. The guard took the token, pressed it against the spiritual array stone behind him, and the spiritual patterns lit up to verify his identity before waving him through: "Next."

He stepped into the Futu Realm.

A breathtakingly magnificent sight greeted him. Seventy-two floating islands rotated slowly overhead, each adorned with palaces and pavilions, while waterfalls and flowing springs cascaded down from thousands of feet in the air, the mist refracting into colorful halos under the sunlight. Beneath his feet was a plaza paved with white jade, over ten thousand feet wide, capable of accommodating hundreds of thousands of people at once. The towering dark golden giant tower straight ahead was the Ancestral Tower of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan—and the barrier closest to where his mother was imprisoned. He looked up toward the deepest part of the Ancestral Tower, and across layers of spiritual arrays and tens of thousands of feet of distance, he sensed a faint, extremely faint pulse of bloodline. She was there. Imprisoned for over a dozen years, yet so close.

Mu Chen pulled his bamboo hat lower and walked toward the tournament grounds with the flow of the crowd.

In the outer void, within a belt of meteorites distorted by the Law of Space.

Nine Nether stood with her arms crossed on a meteorite dozens of feet in diameter, her fiery red hair fluttering in the void without wind, the phantom of the Undying Bird's fire wings appearing and disappearing behind her. She squinted toward the Futu Realm, a cold, impatient sneer hanging on her lips.

"He's in," she said into the communication jade slip.

The voice of Old Ancestor Xuantian came from the other side, old and steady: "Follow the plan. We do not move. Wait for the Manor Master's signal. I want to see if that old thing, Budu Xuan, can keep his cool."

Nine Nether tucked the jade slip into her bosom, sat down cross-legged again, and formed hand seals, her Undying Bird fire wings slowly retracting. She closed her eyes, and her perception as a late-stage Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign spread silently, bringing all spiritual energy fluctuations outside the Futu Realm under monitoring. That old thing, Budu Xuan, had better not act recklessly, otherwise, she wouldn't mind setting the fire inside early. She had promised Mu Chen she would only provide support from the outside, but if Budu Xuan dared to touch a hair on Mu Chen's head, she wouldn't care about any support or lack thereof.

The tournament grounds were located on the thirty-seventh floating island in the center of the Futu Realm. Half of the island had been leveled to pave a black stone arena ten thousand feet in radius, surrounded by hundreds of viewing platforms, which were already filled with disciples of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan and guests from various parties who had rushed over from other islands. A battle at the Earth Supreme level was currently underway in the center of the arena—two figures crossed paths, and the explosive spiritual energy caused the defensive spiritual array at the edge of the arena to flicker violently. Thunderous cheers erupted from the audience from time to time as the geniuses of the younger generation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan displayed their sharpness amidst the cheers of their clansmen.

Mu Chen stood at the registration desk at the edge of the tournament grounds, his bamboo hat still not removed. The elder in charge didn't even look up: "Name, cultivation level, affiliated branch."

"Chen Mu, Upper Earth Sovereign, Qing Branch side branch." Mu Chen reported the alias, his voice calm without a ripple. Mandala had prepared this name for him long ago—there really was such an unremarkable young man in a side branch of the Qing Branch, with low cultivation and a solitary personality who rarely appeared in public. The real Chen Mu was currently being watched over personally by Elder Ling Xi, so no one would expose him.

The elder then looked up at him, his gaze lingering on the black cloth package on his back for a moment before he lowered his head and scribbled a check on the roster: "Arena 37, Match 7. Next."

The outstanding talent of the younger generation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan was named Futu Qingyang, a peak Ninth Grade Sovereign and the great-grandson of Budu Xuan, considered the most outstanding genius of this generation after Saint Son Xuan Luo. He stood in the center of the arena with his hands behind his back, his dark gold battle robe rustling, and the spiritual energy surging around him pressing fine cracks into the reinforced black stone floor of the arena. Thunderous cheers erupted from the surrounding audience; some were shouting his name, others were beating war drums, and the sound waves were causing the clouds and mist at the edge of the floating island to tremble slightly.

"Trash from the Qing Branch, come up and die." Futu Qingyang looked at Mu Chen, his tone as contemptuous as if he were calling a dog.

Mu Chen walked onto the arena. His pace was neither fast nor slow, and his bamboo hat remained on. When climbing the steps to the arena, he even turned slightly to let a young disciple who was running too fast and bumped into him pass, his composure completely out of place with the tense atmosphere, as if he hadn't come for a tournament but was just passing by.

Futu Qingyang was completely enraged by his attitude. The spiritual energy of a peak Ninth Grade Sovereign erupted without reservation, his figure turning into a dark gold lightning bolt as he rushed at Mu Chen, his right fist wrapped in spiritual energy sufficient to shatter half a floating island, slamming toward his face. This punch held nothing back; Futu Qingyang wanted to smash the face of this side-branch trash wearing a broken bamboo hat into pulp in the first strike—this was the privilege of the Chief Elder's great-grandson in the Futu Realm; he could cripple whoever he wanted.

Then he heard an extremely light sigh. There was no mockery, no anger, and not even impatience in that sigh, only a kind of plain "as expected."

Mu Chen raised his right hand, did not draw his sword, and did not use spiritual energy, just slapped out a palm with an understated motion. This palm had no flashy moves, no explosive spiritual energy, and didn't even bring up the sound of wind. But the moment Futu Qingyang's fist reached that palm, it stopped abruptly, all his violent spiritual energy seemingly pushed back into his body by something even more terrifying. Then that palm pushed gently, and Futu Qingyang's entire body flew backward like a broken kite, crashing into the defensive spiritual array at the edge of the arena with a boom. The spiritual array shook violently, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, and Futu Qingyang was embedded in it, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth, eyes rolling back, having already lost consciousness.

One palm. Mu Chen didn't even use the heavenly emperor sword.

The entire tournament ground was silent. On hundreds of viewing platforms, everyone's expressions froze. The disciples of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, who had been cheering just a moment ago, stood with their mouths agape, forgetting to close them; the drumsticks of the war drums hung in mid-air, forgotten; even the elder in charge of judging at the edge of the arena was stunned on the spot, not even noticing that the timing spiritual array in his hand had burned out.

Mu Chen withdrew his palm and adjusted his bamboo hat, covering the faint weariness on half of his face. The younger generation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, that's it?

"Next," he said.

On the elder's platform, several old men with white hair and beards had grave expressions. An Upper Earth Sovereign could not defeat a peak Ninth Grade Sovereign with one palm; this young man in the bamboo hat was not an Earth Supreme at all—his true cultivation was at least at the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign level or higher.

"No need to go up one by one." The presiding elder stood up slowly, his aged voice spreading across the entire venue, "All participants from the Qing Branch, go up together. If you can defeat him, the ranking of the Qing Branch in this year's tournament will count. If you fail—it means he is not from the Qing Branch."

Mu Chen did not refute. He didn't even wait for the Qing Branch participants to get on the stage, just raised his head to glance at the elder's platform: "No need for that much trouble. Everyone who wants to fight, come together."

A thunderous uproar erupted from the audience. The geniuses of the younger generation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan leaped into the arena from all directions, and in the blink of an eye, dozens of figures surrounded Mu Chen, among them several young elders who had just stepped into the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign level. The colorful spiritual energy rays intertwined into a net, illuminating the entire arena as if it were broad daylight.

Mu Chen still did not draw his sword. His figure moved slightly, and he turned into a blurry afterimage, weaving between the dozens of attacks that came from all sides. His perception, with the Law of Space at the minor achievement stage, made the trajectory of every spiritual attack directed at him appear as slow as flying insects stuck in amber. He slapped the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign who rushed to the front, backhanded an elbow to send the sneak attacker behind him flying, dodged three incoming killing spiritual arts by turning his body, tapped his toes on the ground to leap into the air, and then descended from the sky, kicking two Ninth Grade Sovereigns who couldn't dodge in time into the black stone floor simultaneously.

The black stone shattered, and air waves surged. Wherever the afterimage passed, the geniuses of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan fell in droves like wheat harvested by a sickle. No one could touch the corner of his clothes, no one's attack could penetrate the invisible space barrier around him, and no one could even see his movements clearly. When the last standing young elder was flicked on the center of his brow by his finger, flew backward, and shattered the railing of the viewing platform, the arena was already littered with people lying in various positions.

The entire process took less than half an incense stick of time.

The entire venue was dead silent.

Mu Chen stood in the center of the arena, his bamboo hat still not removed, and not a trace of dust on his dark ink battle gear. Around him lay the most proud geniuses of the younger generation of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, moans rising one after another, mixed with a few low sobs—that was the collapse of the proud geniuses after being crushed by a peer for the first time in their lives. Someone in the audience stood up, someone covered their mouth, someone subconsciously stepped back, as if trying to hide themselves in the crowd.

"You are not from the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan." The voice of the presiding elder had changed, from the previous gravity to the suspicion of this moment, even mixed with a trace of imperceptible fear, "Who exactly are you?"

Mu Chen did not answer him. He slowly raised his hand and took off his bamboo hat, revealing a young, angular face. The black cloth of the heavenly emperor sword was torn off by his fingertips, the golden scabbard suddenly shining in the sunlight, the ancient golden patterns on the sword flowing like living creatures, and an ancient and vast pressure swept across the entire tournament ground like a tide. All disciples in the audience with cultivation below the Heavenly Supreme level felt a sense of suffocation simultaneously, as if an invisible sword was pressed against everyone's throat.

"Qing Yanjing's son, Mu Chen." He spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of everyone present, "Here to visit Chief Elder Budu Xuan of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan—ask him to return my mother's freedom."

The whole place was in an uproar.

On the viewing platform, the complexions of the old men of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan changed drastically. The younger generation might not have heard the name "Qing Yanjing," but those who had lived for tens of thousands of years would not forget—that was the former Goddess of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, a legendary woman who destroyed her own future for a mortal from the lower planes and was imprisoned in the Forbidden Hall. And the young man standing in front of them was that legendary "sinful son" who should have been strangled in his cradle as an infant.

On the elder's platform, someone subconsciously took half a step back. Not forced back by the pressure of the heavenly emperor sword, but cowed by the cold light in Mu Chen's eyes when he announced that name. That was not the impulse of a young man, nor the madness of an avenger—it was a killing intent that had been suppressed for over a dozen years, settled for over a dozen years, and finally found an outlet.

At the end of the steps leading to the elder's platform, a slender figure slowly rose.

Xuan Luo.

Saint Son of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, peak Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign. Today, he was wearing the formal Saint Son ceremonial robes, a dark robe with silver patterns, his hair tied with a jade crown, and his bearing entirely different from everyone else present. He looked at the young man in the center of the arena facing the uproar of the whole field, his face devoid of any expression, neither angry nor hostile, and with no intention of stepping forward to block him. He just watched quietly, his gaze passing over Mu Chen's shoulder, seemingly confirming whether there was anyone else behind him—the man in black who had stood in front of Mu Chen outside the Ancient Heavenly Palace and burned Saint Son Mohe You to nothing with a single flame. After confirming there was no one, he let out a sigh of relief, unnoticeable to others, and sat back down in his seat.

This posture said it all. He, Saint Son Xuan Luo of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan, chose neutrality.

Mu Chen withdrew his gaze from him, turned to face the presiding elder, propped the heavenly emperor sword in front of him, and crossed his hands on the end of the hilt. That peerless famous sword that once followed the Heavenly Emperor across the ancient times flowed with golden light, and every line on the sword pulsed slightly in the light, like the oldest heartbeat between heaven and earth.

"Please inform Chief Elder Budu Xuan. The sinful son he was waiting for—is here."